Princess Cut
by Sinister Papaya Fondue
Summary: DH SPOILERS - Ever wonder what was going through Narcissa Malfoy's head when she lied to the Dark Lord about Harry being dead? And what happened when it became obvious that he was very much alive?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Ok everyone, you know I love me some Malfoys, but in past fics I have been notoriously unkind to Narcissa. I didn't like her but HBP and DH changed that a bit. So here's a story from her POV investigating what happened the day Voldemort died and from that point forward. It's not 100 accurate with the book, mainly because a) you already read that, and b) I don't have the book in front of me and haven't read it since it came out. I guess that makes this an AU, but not by much. I'm just filling in what JKR left out…Enjoy!

* * *

I watch Harry Potter drop in front of me, the green light of death dancing briefly in his already green eyes. The Dark Lord is trembling as if in the grip of some great pleasure. For him, it is.

Lucius's hand has tightened every so slightly around my wrist. It is the only indication he'll ever give that the death of this child disturbs him. He is a man who seldom reveals what he is thinking and even less frequently what he is feeling. To meet him the first time gave the impression of meeting someone who could watch puppies die with no reaction at all.

I was a victim of an arranged marriage, but a willing victim. Bellatrix and I were both fortunate to be matched to men of looks and money. I knew that all I had to do was look pretty amongst his fortune and provide him with an heir. There are certainly worse things in the world than having sex with Lucius Malfoy. Back then he was a joy to look at, even in his dispassionate way; he still is.

The last few months have been hell. Lucius likes control. I never knew how much I liked it, too, until the Dark Lord invaded my house. Suddenly we were nothing, convenient pawns to be used but never praised. We were supposed to be the elite of his new world, the chosen ones, the paragons. But in our own house we were dirt.

I have seen Lucius angry before. He is cold and lethal and precise, inflicting maximum damage with minimum effort. Since Azkaban, though, his anger is more explosive. I know that it was never meant for me, but he couldn't very well direct it at the Dark Lord. We were in enough trouble as it was. So all of his ire, his frustration, his swirling hatred of the place we were in, was vented on me.

One night I lost it. I am not a spineless woman; I'll yell when provoked like anyone else. But I had kept it in for his sake, because the last thing he needed on top of everything else was an unhappy wife. Damn it, somewhere along the way I had learned to love him. I was through loving him in soldierly silence, though. I shouted at him and I didn't care who could hear it.

_Loving you is like loving a diamond, Lucius! It is beautiful and it shines and when it's on, it makes you feel good, but in the end it is cold and hard and just an empty promise!_

Since that night he has changed. He has grown quiet, and when he does speak it often turns to our son. And when he is angry he doesn't pace or scream or simmer; he kisses me. Sometimes more than kisses me. I was never sure if he loved me or not, but lately I think he does.

If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that he loves Draco. This is why Harry Potter's death bothers him, if only a little. Harry is Draco's age. As easily as the Dark Lord could kill this boy just turned man, he could kill Draco. He's already threatened it. That was what fueled the greatest part of Lucius's rage and my own. The Dark Lord is clever in his punishments.

I realize that I think him small in his desperation. He is afraid of this boy, truly afraid. But with him dead there is nothing to fear anymore. Perhaps redemption will come…or perhaps Draco is already dead. I know that in spite of his prodigious self-control, Lucius will turn a wand on the Dark Lord if that is the case. Never mind that he has not had a wand since the Dark Lord lost it in battle. That is a great shame to him and would lend even more fire to his final act – because it _would_ be his final act.

"Narcissa!" the Dark Lord barks sharply. I snap to attention, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Check him. Make sure he is dead."

I nod. He is doing this to taunt me. Even now, with victory seemingly at hand, he is reminding me of what he holds over me. My son's life. Lucius's fingers are like a vice on my arm, but slowly they disengage. He is infuriated.

Truth be told, so am I. I walk over and crouch down next to the Potter boy anyway. I feel suddenly sorry for him. The specter of death has been hanging over him for seven years. It's only been seven months for me and I am ready to break.

I lay my hand on Harry Potter's chest, not expecting to feel anything. I am shocked when my fingers register a heartbeat. He is utterly still; unconscious, perhaps, but definitely not dead. The Boy Who Lived, indeed. This is twice he's survived the Killing Curse.

I lower my ear to his face, partially to listen for breath and partially to obscure my face. I'm not sure I can keep it neutral. He is breathing, though very shallowly and quietly. He's awake. Awake, tense, listening, waiting. Neither he nor I think he can survive a third death, but he's facing it if I tell them.

I feel small and insignificant all of a sudden. To have my hand on a person who has defied death twice…to _be_ the person chosen to confirm his death and hold his real fate in my hands…

This is the out. This is the out Lucius and I have been waiting for. This is the reprieve, the redemption, the opening allowed to us to make up for our mistakes. I wasn't sure it would come, but here it is. Here he is.

I turn my lips to the boy's ear. I speak so quietly that I'm not even sure I'm audible.

"Is my son alive?"

Harry Potter tenses. He didn't expect this. But he is resourceful and recovers quickly.

"Yes," he whispers, not moving his lips.

"Be still. I'll tell them you're dead. The rest is up to you." I straighten up, not waiting for an answer. Standing, I face the Dark Lord.

"Well?" he demands anxiously.

"He is dead, my Lord. You are triumphant."

Cheers erupt around me, along with the Dark Lord's laughter. I feel only a small victory. I have gotten back at him the only way I can. Potter is just a kid and there is no guarantee that he will win this fight. Still, according to the prophecy he is the only person that can make any difference in the battle to come. I can be content that I didn't stand in the way of his destiny.

My eyes flicker to Lucius. He is still among the revelry. There is a smile on his face but not in his eyes. He knows. How, I have no idea, but he knows that I lied. His eyes leave me a moment later and do a rapid sweep of the people around him. I see him note faces and wands. He is fully aware that when Potter miraculously comes to, the Dark Lord's ire will focus solely on us.

I return to him and his arms wrap around me from behind. It is an uncharacteristic public gesture of affection, but in the chaos of perceived victory, no one notices. His lips burn a kiss into the back of my neck. I have an ally in my defiance. It is foolish and crazy and will probably get us killed, but that always seems to work for the other side. It is time to see if it will work for us.


	2. Chapter 2

The deciding moment comes all too soon. The Longbottom boy appears and I am surprised at how formidable he is in his rage. With a sword that I suspect might be that of Godric Gryffindor, he hacks off the head of the Dark Lord's snake, Nagini. It is as if he lopped off one of the Dark Lord's legs; Voldemort is incensed, screaming, quivering. As Longbottom and his entourage retreat, Harry Potter springs up and runs with them.

The snake writhes and twitches and is still at last. Something has shifted. There is color in the Dark Lord's cheeks, sweat on his brow, and recklessness in his eyes. The death of that snake has done something to him.

He advances on me. I feel the others melt away from me, fearing his rage. Lucius steps in front of me, his hand locking around the Dark Lord's wand in a swift, clear gesture. It says to everyone that he stands by his seditious wife. It won't do anything to protect either of us if the Dark Lord has murder on his mind, but just now he seems too angry for words. And without words, there is no Killing Curse.

He rips his arm from my husband's grasp. Without preamble he strikes Lucius, once, twice, three times. Fists and feet draw blood from Lucius's face and crack his ribs. I am stunned and afraid. I have never seen the Dark Lord use physical violence like this. It is always spells, curses, hexes, Cruciatus, never fists. He always fancied himself too good for the barbaric physical confrontation that muggles resorted to. Oh, but he is not. Not anymore.

Lucius is unconscious. Now he comes for me, and stars explode behind my eyes as I am hit with a cold fist slick with my husband's blood.

"Traitorous wench!" he bellows. I look up at him from where I have fallen, my hand pressed to my throbbing cheek. He is breathing hard. I say nothing and as he looks at me for a long minute he seems to calm. He has remembered himself. To show any more weakness could result in mutiny.

Voldemort – yes, I can call him that because he is my Lord no longer – wipes his fist on his robes. Then he gestures at some of the Death Eaters, new recruits that I do not recognize.

"Watch them," he hisses. "They will pay for their duplicity when we return."

* * *

The four that are left behind have separated us. Lucius is still unconscious, several feet away with two of them standing over him diligently. It bothers me that he hasn't woken but he doesn't look too badly hurt. In all likelihood he will be fine.

The two guarding me are irrepressibly stupid. They are arguing about whether Bellatrix or I was more attractive with more than a tad of vulgarity. My sister is insane, but even she would be offended by their assertion that her cunt probably tastes like a dead mouse. It doesn't escape me that dead mice are a favorite of snakes, so in a crude, twisted way, they might be paying her a compliment. I wonder what Bellatrix thinks of me now. It won't matter, because I'm fairly sure that she won't make it out of this battle alive. Longbottom and Potter will be gunning for her; she took something precious from both of them.

The one on the left thinks I am the better catch. The one on the right says Bellatrix. I am content to ignore them and their moronic observations until the one on the right says,

"Hey, if you think she's such a prize, why don't you have at her right now?"

"Are you mad?" the other one responds. Perhaps he has more sense than I gave him credit for.

"What's to stop you?" the first goads. "Hubby over there is lights out, and none of us will stand in your way, right?"

The two standing over Lucius nod. "Go on, Callahan," one of them says.

"Yeah," agrees the other. "To the victor go the spoils."

"You're nuts. If the Dark Lord doesn't approve he'll have my head, idiots," Callahan rebuts. There is hope for this one, yet.

"Well if you won't do it," one of Lucius's guardians says, "then I will." He strides away from Lucius, swaggering. "Bitch deserves it for betraying us."

"Seriously, Morris, it's not a good idea," Callahan protests.

"Shut up, Callahan."

"Yeah. Grow some balls," the third snorts. I scowl at them. Callahan has more balls than the three of them combined. Morris tosses his robe aside. Callahan won't stop him and I understand why; he's outnumbered. They'd kill him.

I bite the inside of my lips. I'm outnumbered, too. One of them I could take, but not four. Not four. I come to a snap judgment. I can deal with this. It's not death. It's pain and humiliation, to be sure, but I'll live. As long as I'm alive there is the possibility that I can save Draco. With Lucius out and my son inside the school, neither of them will ever know it happened. I can pull off that charade.

Morris is ogling me, predatory behind his mask. "Hold her down, Reegan. I don't trust her not to struggle." The one called Reegan pushes me down onto my back and pins me. Morris leans down and begins to open my blouse, taking his sweet time. "Although," he says menacingly, "if she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't fight."

I can do this. I can. I can handle this. _Just think of Lucius_, I tell myself. _Just think of two weeks ago when he backed you into the wall in the library, picked you up by the hips and fucked you like he was twenty…_

That isn't helping. I don't want to associate this with my husband. I turn my head to the side. I should have picked the other direction, though, because when I open my eyes I'm looking right at Lucius. He's looking back, his brilliant blue eyes disoriented.

The next moment is a blur. There are shouts and blood. I piece it together slowly, almost dream-like. Lucius has a knife. He isn't stupid enough to go unarmed. Normally he'd have no chance against a wand, but the one guarding him was distracted by Morris's attempt to get his jollies. He receives a knife in the gut for his efforts and Lucius wrenches the wand from his shocked hand.

Morris fires a Killing Curse at Lucius. Thank heavens my husband is quick even in his concussed state. He pulls the body of the half-dead guard in front of him and he is made fully dead by Morris's curse. Lucius heaves the body at Morris, foiling his attempt at a second and possibly more accurate Avada Kedavra. Reegan, meanwhile, is scrambling for his wand. Lucius beats him to it and he slumps over me, dead, momentarily shutting out my vision. I deprive him of his wand and heave him off in time to cast a vicious hex at Morris. The man drops to the ground, convulsing. That will keep him busy until one of us can kill him.

Lucius is bearing down on Callahan, wand in one hand and knife in the other. The young Death Eater is wandless and paralyzed by a Jelly Legs hex. He is dragging his gelatinous limbs across the ground in an attempt to scramble away. I stand up, aware that I am in total disarray, and shout.

"Lucius, not him!"

My husband freezes. He looks up at me.

"It is not wise to let him live," he says after a tense minute. "He will run to the Dark Lord."

"He tried to help me." I don't elaborate how but I'm sure that Lucius knows exactly what I mean. True, Callahan could have tried a little harder, but his shred of conscience stirs my shred of mercy.

Another minute passes. Lucius wants to kill him. But in one precise movement he ends the hex. "Get out of here," he snarls, and turns away from him without another word. Lucius comes toward me, tucking Callahan's wand in his pocket, and behind him the young man gets up and begins to run for all he is worth.

I survey Lucius as he approaches. He has looked better, but whatever confusion I saw in his eyes in that odd moment before is gone. He doesn't say anything as he begins to mend and reaffix my clothing. His left hand is bloody from using the knife and without realizing, he has made a crimson handprint on my blouse. He stops. Lucius opens his mouth to say something.

A gurgling moan from Morris interrupts him. We both look to the man in the grass and then back at each other. Lucius hands me the knife obligingly.

"If you plan to emasculate him," he says, "please let me know so I can look the other way."

I hand the knife back. "Will you do it?"

"What? Emasculate him?" Lucius looks faintly alarmed at the prospect. Perhaps even a little nauseated. I want to laugh at him. My husband has certainly proven to have a strong stomach, but when it comes to removal or mutilation of male genitalia he is like any other man – downright squeamish.

"No, dear," I smile. "Kill him."

His face relaxes. His expression is one of 'oh, why didn't you just say so?' The moment is a bit surreal and I wonder if we are twisted people. Lucius approaches Morris and looks from hand to hand; in his left he holds the knife, in the right the dead guard's wand. After a moment of consideration he pockets the wand.

"You," he says decisively, "are not worth the piece of my soul that the Killing Curse would destroy." He crouches next to Morris, examining the knife as if it were a mundane task he did every day. When he speaks again his voice is soft and mocking, the way it gets when he is toying with someone. "But fortunately there are no such consequences with this."

Two minutes later, Morris is dead.

* * *

We stop briefly at the lake on our way up to Hogwarts. Lucius washes the blood from his hands and face. I am surprised when he comes over to me and gently uses his sleeve to coax the blood from my cheek – his blood.

"Are you all right?" he asks. There is none of his usual hedging; his face is openly concerned.

Oh, hell. I melt under his appraising gaze. I throw my arms around him and press my lips to his. He responds with more fervor than I expected and, off balance, we nearly go into the lake. It's as I suspected; we are twisted. We're bloody ridiculous! Of all the times to be having a romantic moment! His strong arms right us and though I can sense in his lips and tongue that he'd like to continue, he pulls away.

"Draco," he says. Then, with a crooked smirk, "Eye on the prize, woman."

I swat him on the arm, suddenly feeling much better about our chances. "Don't think you can get smart with me just because you saved me."

He says nothing, but the smirk stays on his face until we near the main entrance. It fades as we take in the scene. The great wooden doors are shattered and it is clear that utter chaos rules within. When I look at him he has become that hard diamond once more, but not so cold because I know he is ready to fight and die for his son. There are no empty promises in that.

Finally, we have something worth fighting for.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days have passed since Voldemort died. I am back at the Manor with Draco. Draco is confused and angry and sad and afraid. They have already taken Lucius back to Azkaban and I don't know what I'd do if they came for Draco.

I try to ignore those thoughts. They tend to overwhelm me. I open the Daily Prophet instead, the first edition since the Dark Lord's defeat. The cover is predictable. Huge flaring letters proclaim the defeat of the Dark Lord by Harry Potter. I skip it. I was there.

The next page is more somber. It lists all the dead in two columns; one under the heading 'Dumbledore's Army' and the other under 'Death Eaters'. It is masochistic but I force myself to read.

_Fred Weasley, Order of Merlin First Class._ One of the twins. I swallow. I don't particularly like Molly and Arthur Weasley or their brood of children, but I feel their loss. I wonder if the remaining twin – George, is it? – will ever be the same.

_Remus Lupin, Order of Merlin First Class._ Nymphadora's husband and the father of her child. A good man, for a werewolf. I never met him but Draco had very few bad things to say about him.

_Nymphadora Tonks, Auror, Order of Merlin First Class._ My eccentric Metamorphmagus cousin is dead. In fact, all of my family is dead. I'm the last shred of the Black family line. No – her son is part of it, too. The paper says his name is Teddy. I think Teddy Lupin will be receiving a sizable trust fund from an anonymous donor in the near future.

The next name surprises me. _Severus Snape, Order of Merlin First Class, Order of the Phoenix._ The paper explains that the Order of the Phoenix is a newly instituted honor and only the most heroic receive it. I frown. Shouldn't Severus be in the Death Eater column? I read on.

When I finish I am shocked. Then I am angry. My vision clouds over. I am literally seeing red. Dumbledore was already dying from a curse on one of the horcruxes. And Voldemort would have known, too, as he was the one who created the curse. The Dark Lord _knew_ Dumbledore was dying and still charged Draco with killing him!

My hands tremble. It had torn Draco to pieces. With Lucius in Azkaban, vulnerable to Dementors that followed the will of the Dark Lord, and myself more or less powerless, responsibility for the wellbeing of his family had been heaped squarely on Draco. A boy of sixteen was not meant to handle that. That is why, at that age, they are called boys and not men.

I did the only thing I could. I went to Severus and asked for the Unbreakable Vow. Lucius had cautioned me against it, saying only that Severus might not be the best candidate, but who else could aid Draco like he could? It had worked in the end. Snape had helped an ailing man to his grave and relieved the pressure on Draco. And here we were, all four of us turncoats, one dead, one in prison, and the other two stuck in limbo.

I close the paper. I have read enough.

* * *

A week later Draco comes into the sitting room, clearly distressed. He holds out the Daily Prophet and asks,

"Mum, is this true?"

I take the paper from him.

**MYSTERY EYEWITNESS: "I SAW THE MALFOYS TURN AGAINST VOLDEMORT"**

_A young man who will only identify himself as 'C' has claimed that he witnessed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy act against the Dark Lord in the final hours of the war. C asserts that when Harry Potter was believed to be dead, Narcissa Malfoy was the one assigned to make absolutely certain The Boy Who Lived was gone. Mrs. Malfoy lied to the Dark Lord, stating that Potter was dead when she knew him to be alive. This matches statements made earlier in the week by Harry Potter himself, crediting Mrs. Malfoy with giving him enough time to recover from the Killing Curse._

_This account goes further, however, in describing the subsequent capture and abuse of both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The couple was watched over by four Death Eaters as Voldemort marched on Hogwarts. For a time, C claims that Mr. Malfoy was unconscious, while three of the four Death Eaters attempted to sexually assault Mrs. Malfoy._

"_Naturally," C stated, "Mr. Malfoy wasn't too happy about that when he regained consciousness." According to C Mr. Malfoy was armed with a knife. A fight broke out, during which the assault was prevented and the offending Death Eaters were killed. The fourth Death Eater escaped and has so far not been found._

_This claim is consistent with the discovery of three Death Eaters, all found dead near the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. The Death Eaters were identified as Hans Morris, 28, a former Ministry page, Nathaniel Reegan, 27, and Eugene Blunt, 23. Both Blunt and Morris suffered knife wounds. Reegan appears to have died from the Killing Curse. "That doesn't necessarily mean it was Mr. Malfoy that killed him," C states. "All four Death Eaters were firing the curse and at one point Mr. Malfoy did use one of the men to shield himself. It must have been Reegan." _

_From there it is known that the couple went on to Hogwarts. Twelve witnesses have since come forward to testify that either Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy, or both, were fighting against the Death Eaters, not with them._

"_It seemed like they were trying to protect their son," one witness, who has asked for her name to be withheld, stated. "I only saw them engage Death Eaters."_

_Another witness said, "They used only what force was necessary. Neither used any Unforgivables."_

_This report from the mysterious C adds more yet more force for a growing movement towards governmental pardon for Lucius Malfoy, who is currently imprisoned in Azkaban serving out the remainder of his interrupted sentence._

I lower the paper. C. It's…

"Callahan," I murmur out loud.

"What?" Draco asks.

"Nothing," I recover quickly. It has to be Callahan. He's repaying me for sparing his life. He's distorted the details just enough that we come out looking like saints. "Yes, Draco, it's true."

He closes his grey eyes. I know it's the mention of the almost-assault that has unsettled him.

"I'm all right, Draco. Nothing happened except a slight bruising of my dignity."

He nods and sits across from me. "Dad saved you?"

I nod in return. "He was quite gallant, actually."

For the first time in a long time, Draco smiles.

* * *

From there it is a cascade of headlines. Apparently, forensics and eyewitnesses are on our side.

**MALFOY'S KNIFE POSITIVE FOR BLOOD OF BLUNT, MORRIS**

_The knife Lucius Malfoy possessed at the time of his arrest has been tested and shown to contain traces of blood of both Eugene Blunt and Hans Morris. These findings support new evidence brought forth by the source known only as 'C', who last week came forward to vouch for the Malfoys. The wand in Malfoy's possession was also tested and showed no sign of being used to cast an Unforgivable. The wands of both Blunt and Morris, found at the scene, had both cast the Killing Curse, supporting claims that Death Eater Nathaniel Reegan was killed by his own comrade. The wand in Malfoy's possession is believed to be that of the fourth, escaped Death Eater who remains at large._

_Asked about the killings, Lucius Malfoy said, "I am guilty of the stabbings. I had to protect my wife. Any man would do the same."_

**FABRIC FOUND ON MORRIS MATCHED TO NARCISSA MALFOY**

_A scrap of fabric found beneath the fingernail of deceased Death Eater Hans Morris has been matched to a recent purchase at Madame Malkin's boutique. The transaction was traced to Narcissa Malfoy. This lends even more proof to claims that the Malfoys turned against the Dark Lord and were subsequently punished. It is now believed that Morris, 28, attempted to force himself on Narcissa Malfoy, thus coming to have her clothing beneath his nail. Of course Morris was prevented by her husband, Lucius. The two later escaped and went on to fight at Hogwarts. _

**LUNA LOVEGOOD SPEAKS OUT**

_Luna Lovegood, daughter of tabloid publisher Xenophilius Lovegood, is speaking out about her abduction and imprisonment during the war. Lovegood had previously stated that she was imprisoned at Malfoy Manor with several others. However, Lovegood is now revealing new information about her captors._

_"I could hear a lot of what was going on through the pipes and ventilation shafts," she explained. "There was nothing else to do but listen." Lovegood also emphatically asserts that neither Lucius nor Narcissa Malfoy ever harmed her. In fact, she claims that Narcissa would at times sneak her books and extra food._

_"I began to understand that they weren't in control," Lovegood said. "There were always Death Eaters coming and going and many times I heard the Dark Lord himself. The others would mock them, especially about their connection to Nymphadora Tonks and her husband, Remus Lupin. I would say they weren't in the Dark Lord's good graces."_

_"Sometimes," Lovegood continued, "I would hear the two of them fight. They were worried about their son, Draco. They wanted the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters out of their house and out of their lives. They were very unhappy."_

_When asked if she believed that the Malfoys were good people, Lovegood replied, "Oh yes, of course. Good people in a bad situation."_

I remember the Lovegood girl. She is a strange little thing, but smart and resilient. Thankfully no one had had much interest in her, other than to keep her father under control. I did sneak food and books, and one time I risked a lot to give the poor girl a bath. I went down to give her our dinner leftovers and found her with blood all over her legs. I thought someone had done something nefarious to her and was ready to boil over with rage. Before I could, she informed me in that eerily calm, oddly mature way of hers that she had gotten her period and had nothing available to deal with it. I gave her a pile of dinner napkins and at three o'clock in the morning snuck her to the first floor bath. I washed her clothes and gave her the proper supplies. I can't say I blame her for not relating that story to the newspaper.

* * *

Another week passes and Draco is cleared of all charges. I am surprised at how many people vouch for him. The Death Eaters I understand; they're trying to make plea bargains for reduced sentences. But Harry Potter speaks for him, too. Neither of us expects it or understands it until an interview runs in the Quibbler.

_Xenophilius Lovegood: You recently spoke out in support of Draco Malfoy, a former school enemy and Death Eater. Can you give us some insight on that, Harry? A lot of people don't understand why you did it._

_Harry Potter: Well, I know that he didn't choose it. He kind of got forced into it, to try to make up for his father's failure in the Department of Mysteries. When the time came, though, he couldn't kill Dumbledore. He really struggled. If you think about it, there was a lot on the line for him._

_XL: Like what?_

_HP: His family, for starters. He had to do it or else his family was in danger. It was his only choice. -Harry pauses- I guess if I had a family, a mother and a father like he does, I would have done the same thing. _

* * *

Witch Weekly then runs a three days series of articles entitled 'Lucius Malfoy: Victim or Villain?' I think the women's newsmagazine is mildly obsessed with him. On the third day there is a tremendous picture of Lucius and me locked in a kiss. It is rather embarrassing. I know where it is from but I had no idea anyone was taking pictures. It was in the Great Hall of Hogwarts after the final battle, when the Aurors came to take him. He had asked them if he could please kiss his wife and son before he went. He'd given Draco a peck on the cheek, one of the only times in recent memory he'd done that, and me…

Well, he kissed me until my head spun. He had never kissed me so thoroughly in public before, and seldom in private, in nineteen years of marriage. He didn't care who was watching or what they thought. Now that I look at it, the picture is sort of iconic. His arms are around me tightly, our bodies just so, and there is genuine emotion in the part of his face that is visible. And with the bruises on his face and the bloody handprint on my shirt, it's…

Two weeks later a consent form comes in the mail, asking if the image can be used in a gallery chronicling the end of the war. I sign it without much thought. Lucius will probably be mortified, but if he didn't want people to see it, he shouldn't have done it. Besides, a part of me doesn't mind the whole world knowing that for that day, at least, Lucius Malfoy had been the best damn husband in the world.

I go to visit the gallery one day and am shocked to see that the picture has its own room. The owner explains that it had become a rallying point for people who believed that Lucius and some others should be pardoned. I don't know why so many people have aligned behind us; I'm certain it has something to do with the lawyers and the public relations man Lucius instructed me to hire. That isn't all of it, though. There's something else, something I can't define.

There were flowers, signs, sweets, everything you can imagine stacked like offerings on the floor beneath the picture of Lucius and me. Someone snaps a picture of me looking at it, my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes, and that ends up in the gallery, too. The PR man tells me I'm a genius. I just laugh because I have noticed that Luna Lovegood has been there; no one else would leave a box of tampons with a flower sticking out of it.


	4. Chapter 4

In two more months Lucius is released. He is pardoned and his record expunged, although it comes with a hefty warning from Kingsley Shacklebolt that if he ever slips up again, it'll be the Dementor's Kiss. Thankfully, I know that Lucius will not make the same mistake twice. He won't so much as jaywalk for the rest of his life.

Lucius couldn't be happier and honestly, neither could I. He takes me to bed within two hours of returning and spends the next two torturing me to ecstasy. I fall asleep and when I wake he's next to me, alert, staring at the ceiling.

"That was a close one, wasn't it," he says after a few minutes. I know what he means. I nod against his chest. He rolls over and I do the same, thinking that he's ready to sleep. But I feel him turn back over and then mold against me. His arm drapes over me and his hand comes to rest in front of my face. He is holding a small velvet box.

"I know you said that diamonds were empty promises," he says, his voice rumbling pleasantly through my back. "But I'm fairly sure that that didn't mean I should stop buying them for you."

I laugh and feel tears welling up at the same time. That's just like him, to use my own words against me. And when did he have time to go out and buy this? I open the box. It's a pendant, not big but not small, and while it glistens like a diamond it is an odd amorphous shade of orange-red.

"It's a fire diamond," he explains. "Very rare. The color comes from dragon remains being mixed in with the coal and being compressed over time. They can make them synthetically, but they're never as vibrant. I--" he pauses, noticing my face. "What?"

"You got me a dead dragon," I grin.

His lips twitch. "It's probably only a scale or two. One dead dragon can make ten thousand of those…but how often does a dragon die in a coal bed?"

"You tell me. You seem to be the expert on the subject." I can't help teasing him; he seems to be in an excellent mood and it's been months since we were able to talk.

"Now you're just making fun of me _and_ the dragon that died to further your beauty."

I laugh again and carefully take the pendant out of the box. It is on a delicate gold chain. I unhook it and he reaches to help me fasten it. His hands are warm on the back of my neck.

"I'm not going to get in trouble with magical creature rights groups for wearing this, am I?" I can't resist asking.

"If they complain about a dragon that died sixty thousand years ago, they're imbeciles." He's half on top of me, appraising me. "What's gotten into you, anyway? Say thank you, wife."

"Thank you, wife."

This time he laughs, real laughter that has only mirth behind it. It is a sound I haven't heard in quite some time. His fingers toy with the necklace, gently so he won't break the chain. The laughter leaves him as quickly as it came and he turns serious.

"I love you, Narcissa."

My heart skips a beat and I'm pretty sure he notices it. Damn, here come the tears again. Am I really so deprived of that phrase? Yes. I can count on two hands the number of times he's said it to me and meant it. This time is number seven, but the earnestness with which he said it might make it count as two. Or three.

His lips curve into a lazy smile. "This would be the time for me to mock you for being a sentimental woman." He kisses my shoulder. "Mock." Then a little lower down my arm. "Mock." Then the back of my hand. "Mock."

"Oh, Malfoy, you are really buttering me up," I recover. "Is there something you want?"

He pauses and actually looks a little unsure.

"Well, spit it out."

He bites his lip. It's almost disconcerting how unguarded he is. He has been this way since he got back, as if he decided in Azkaban that playing the game all the time was too much. "I was thinking…of maybe…another child?"

I'm dumbfounded. He hadn't expressed much interest in another child after Draco. "I…aren't we a little old?"

He frowns. "I'm 45 and you're 40. Is that old?"

"It's riskier for a woman to have a baby after 40."

He nods. "All right. It was just a thought."

I search his face, confused. It's not that I'm averse to having another baby, I just never expected him to want one. He doesn't appear disappointed but I know how good he is at masking such things. Would he even have brought it up if it wasn't something he was serious about?

Probably not. Game or not, he is still a man of few words, so the ones he chooses to say are always important.

"How about," I say, turning over and resting my chin on his chest, "we give it a try and que sera, sera?"

* * *

And that's how I end up on my back in St. Mungo's a year later delivering twins and shouting that Lucius Malfoy is a no-good sperm bucket, all the while clutching his hand so hard that it later turns an interesting shade of purple and he won't let me forget it. He finally relents when I threaten to name the children Sperm and Bucket, after him.

They're fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. He agreed to let me name them since he had a monopoly over naming Draco. I'm sure he regrets that now. I name the girl Callahan, Cally for short, which he informs me sounds like a vacuous muggle cheerleader's name. I ask him how he knows what a muggle cheerleader is and he shuts up. He never asks me why I picked it and I realize it's because he never heard the kid's name that day; by the time he regained consciousness Morris, Blunt, and Reegan were the targets and the fourth remained a nameless fugitive.

The boy I have more trouble with. My mind seems to draw a blank. I know Lucius wouldn't mind a Lucius, Jr., but I'm not sure I can handle two of them. Forget me, I'm not sure the _world_ can handle two of them. I suggest Frederick; Lucius tells me we're not raising the Grand Duke of Austria-Hungary. I propose Augustus and he seems mildly interested until he realizes the kid would be nicknamed Gus. Annoyed, I tell him I'm going to name him Narcissus and be done with it. He chokes on the brandy he's drinking and coughs for a good five minutes.

It becomes a game. I say Beauregard and he says Richelieu. I throw a glass at him and he retreats, cackling. He would want to name his child after someone associated with the phrase 'Reign of Terror'. He says Matthieu and I respond that he can only be called Matthieu if we are Malfois, which horrifies him because it translates unfavorably. I think it's hilarious and Lucius accuses me of trying to give our children emotional complexes before they can even walk. Apparently that's his job and it doesn't start until preschool.

It goes on. The poor child is unnamed for almost a month. Draco, who is home for summer, thinks we've lost our minds. He tells us to get out of the house and offers to watch the kids. I should have known the snot was up to something.

When we come back he coolly informs us that he has picked a name for his little brother. He holds out a certificate and explains that since I was supposed to name the kid and many of the names on the Black side of the family came from stars or constellations or astrology (as his own had), he had picked the name of a star. Appearing completely serious, he tells us that his brother is now named Betelgeuse.

The look on Lucius's face must have purported murder because Draco only lasted twenty seconds before he burst into a fit of laughter. He laughed so hard he cried and got the hiccups. Draco lay on the floor for a half hour recovering. Lucius didn't talk to him for two days. It didn't help that every time Draco saw him he snickered.

That gives us the motivation we needed. We don't put it past Draco to make it permanent next time. Three days after his prank, just when Lucius has begun to be civil to his eldest, it comes to me. Lucius is half asleep while brushing his teeth and I have green face cream on.

"Phineas."

"Hm?"

"Phineas. You know, like Phineas Nigellus."

He considers. "Fin for short?" He looks as though he can't decide if he likes it.

I shrug. "One syllable. It's easy to yell."

He nods as though I have just made the best argument of my life. "In hindsight," he mutters after he has rinsed his mouth, "that might be the mistake we made with Draco." He places his toothbrush on the counter. "One too many syllables."

* * *

Draco seems to like being around his little brother and sister and he babysits them every few weeks. I'm impressed with him until Lucius informs me that he does it because men with babies are girl-magnets, sort of like men with cute pets, and he's trying to meet someone. I dislike my children being put in the same category as pets and tell Draco he is shallow for using such tactics.

They work, though. Damn it all, they work.

* * *

So here I am, six years later, trying not to cry and failing miserably and tempering Lucius's resigned annoyance. Cally and Fin are five and behave as such. At least Fin does; Cally sits primly by her father's side, her swinging feet the only indication of her youthful energy. Fin is all over the place and I give up on him, determined not to miss one son's wedding trying to control the other. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lucius pluck a hymn book from Fin's hands with deadly speed. It's a move he's perfected by now. Cally giggles.

A minute passes and the music starts. I look over, suspicious because Fin has been quiet. Lucius is giving him The Eye and it's working. I have the distinct feeling that some people in the church are finding this very entertaining. People look at Lucius when he is with the children like he is a brand new father, in that syrupy, amused, and slightly sympathetic way. For heaven's sake, the man is almost fifty. Though I must admit the second time around he is doing everything he didn't the first and it's kind of nice.

I watch my son get married to a pretty mediwitch named Calixta Vergaros. She is from an old pureblood family in Spain. He's besotted with her and I hope to hell she doesn't break his heart. Dark things lie down _that_ path. I squelch my motherly instincts and watch them kiss.

I can't help but think of my own wedding and the cold, stiff, arrogant man I married a quarter of a century ago. It had taken nearly twenty of those twenty five years for him to thaw, but…these last six years had been worth it. The insanity of the past seems so far removed. I was right. In the years since the war he hasn't so much as jaywalked. We still have our arguments and plenty of them, but not once have I been as angry as I was that one night when I shouted my ridiculous metaphor about precious stones.

He shoots a small, rueful smile at me. Fin and Cally have reached their limit and as people file out of the church they zoom toward where Draco and his new wife are standing and accepting congratulations. Calixta is wonderful with the kids; she scoops up Cally and puts the veil on her head. She'll be a good mother.

"So," Lucius says, his arm going around my waist, "how long do you think it's going to be before I have to start buying Cally diamonds?"

"Eh," I say, watching her play with Calixta's necklace, "I trust that she'll be able to find herself a nice rich trophy husband to do that."

He chuckles and walks away to shake his son's hand.

-FINIT-


End file.
